Giving Up Control
by ChristineFury
Summary: Sometimes giving up control is what a Councilor needs to stay sane. Saren/Councilor Sparatus. One Shot. Mature Content.


_(Hey, FFNet, can we get a Councilor Sparatus tag, please?)_

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It didn't matter if he was the Councilor- he knew that. When that door was shut and it was just the two of them, rank and position didn't matter. Natural dominance, size, power and will were what mattered with the decorated Spectre, and it was what made him enjoy being slammed against the wall, even if he spoke for the entire turian race.

Sparatus let his mandibles go slack as he tilted his head to the side, the larger, taller male grazing impatient teeth over his throat with a low guttural growl. Green eyes closed, a moan issuing from between parted jaws as impossibly long black claws tore open the front of his shirt.

He'd stopped trying to fight for control during their trysts- he was always having to look calm, collected, shouldering the weight of the entire turian species on his shoulders, and it felt good to let someone else take control. To give up the professional facade and just let it go, give up control to someone else.

No one took control quite like Saren.

Saren wasted no time when he came to Sparatus' apartments. As soon as the door was shut behind them, he ceased being Councilor, and became the willing target of Saren's violent lust. He didn't pretend this was about affection or attachment, even loyalty that kept Saren coming back to him after every mission.

It wasn't his duty as a Spectre, Sparatus thought muddily, his mind hazed over as claws ripped at his clothes. It wasn't his loyalty as a turian, he murmured in the back of his mind as he was pushed roughly onto the couch- Saren was a bare faced turian. His loyalty was only with himself and his instincts.

No, the only reason Saren came back every time was power. Sparatus knew this as the Spectre pulled his legs up, ankles resting on his shoulders, claws raking down the darker Turian's lean thighs. Power that he loved exerting over him as he unbuttoned his pants-he never fully disrobed for these trysts- then thrust into him, mandibles flaring, hissing in feral pleasure as Sparatus tossed his head, a low growling moan ripping from his throat.

Every rough, violent thrust was Saren wordlessly taking control back from him. For every time that Sparatus had told him to reign in his temper in front of Tevos and Valern. For each time that he had "questioned" one of Saren's judgments to save face in front of the others. For every time that Sparatus had praised Nihlus instead of him to avoid appearing that he was playing favorites.

They both knew Saren was his favorite.

No one else could make him feel normal, could take the burden off his shoulders, make him forget his duties as he surrendered to the turian that was hungry for power, control, dominance. Saren never said a word during these visits, but from the urgency of his movements, the way his claws always clutched him tightly, but never broke skin- the ultimate show of control from the most ruthless of Spectres- Sparatus knew he enjoyed them.

For an hour, Sparatus was a regular man, and Saren controlled him, dominated him, but was always careful never to hurt him.

Saren liked to have control, and he never lost his own inherent control, even when buried deep inside the moaning, keening male beneath him.

Sparatus' toes curled, his stomach tight with arousal as Saren reached down, carefully cradling his cock in his claws, tightening his fingers around the rigid shaft. Sparatus opened his green eyes to meet the glowing blue cybernetics of the bare faced Spectre.

Saren wouldn't help him unless he met his eyes.

A low rumble started in Saren's chest, crescendoing as Sparatus finally broke his gaze to tilt his head back, exposing his throat. The hand around his cock begin to move, careful of the wicked talons the pale plated turian refused to dull, even out of politeness- a custom amongst Turians when in mixed company and in periods of peace. Saren never complied with Turian norms.

It was what Sparatus loved about Saren- but he'd never voice this aloud, for fear of never having this release again.

The movements of Saren's hand began to mirror the thrusts of his narrow hips, and both turians started to vocalize the approach of their release. Saren slowed his hips, and quickened the movements of his grip, applying more pressure as he leaned down with a low growl, biting at the throat exposed to him. Sparatus keened as razor sharp teeth sank into his tender skin, and he arched his back, slightly lifting off the couch as he came, spilling over his own belly. Saren growled, satisfied, the rumble vibrating through his lover's neck and cowl.

Sparatus was always made to come first.

Saren finally allowed his thrusts to quicken, and with cobalt tingeing his teeth and the edge of his bottom jaw, he tossed his head and let out a guttural growl as he came, hands moving to grip Sparatus' hips, pulling him tight against him. They were still a moment, then Saren dipped his head to lick at Sparatus' neck, growling smugly.

It was the closest Saren would ever come to nuzzling him.

Sparatus sat up, watching as Saren buttoned up his pants, ignoring the rapidly cooling fluid on his belly. He admired the fluid way Saren moved, sleek and silent as a shadow. He always disappeared just as quickly and silently, leaving no trace that he'd been there- aside from the bite marks, the afterglow of a good rutting, and shreds in yet another expensive outfit.

Sparatus flopped back, catching his breath, lifting his nose to catch the scent of Saren's musk in the air, silently thanking the abrasive Spectre for letting him feel like a normal turian.

Even if it was only for an hour. That hour, once a week, kept him from going insane.


End file.
